


Aria Meets the Gods: A Father-Daughter Story

by LizardBreath914



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, M/M, Possible Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardBreath914/pseuds/LizardBreath914
Summary: Aria is going to save her father if it’s the last thing she does. The second-to-last thing will be dragging Viktor “bubble head” Nikiforov back to civilization.~Aria’s father has fallen deathly ill, so it’s up to her to travel to the kingdom of gods and beg for a cure. Viktor the elf might not be the best navigator, but it’s not his fault he was cursed with no sense of direction. Together, they’ll cleave their way through the deadliest terrain known to man and maybe bring a family together in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

Aria would never be an adult, as far as she knew. Seven years is a long time to wait for anything, let alone maturity.

"But look," her father would counter. "Here's how tall you were on your last birthday" – he would tap the notch he carved in the doorframe – "You might grow taller than me next year." It was an obvious exaggeration that earned him a smile from his daughter every time, which pleased him to no end. To any outsider, it was a strange scene.

Aria's father was a dark wizard who consistently dressed the part with black, feathered robes. His beard was full and well-kept. His stare looked like it could turn you inside-out. One would never guess he could ever foster a nurturing side, but he was never more excited than when he discovered he would be a dad.

As for Aria, she was strange in her own way. Any child would be strange if they grew the way she did.

It was a unique ability that she didn't understand, but Aria could change ages at will. At age seven, the oldest she could go was a young teen, though her upper limit increased with practice. And she held her body at that limit as long as she could.

The apple does not fall far from the tree. If Aria's father had any complaints that she pushed herself too hard, he had no one to blame but himself. The man could be running a fever that would kindle a fire, but that was no excuse to sleep it off. "Parents don't get sick days," as he would say. Aria, however, could have a break if she sneezed during flu season.

That's why the old wizard collapsed in his workshop late one evening, leaving behind an incomplete teleportation spell, an incomplete collection of ingredients, and a long pen stroke on the page trailing off an incomplete word.

When the doctor arrived with the nurse, the girl was already tending to the patient with a warm cloth and soup.

"Good evening, Aria," the doctor greeted. Her greying hair was held back tightly, showing light wrinkles around her eyes and a light smile on her lips. In contrast, the nurse had a face so smooth it looked like he never expressed an emotion in his life.

"Hello, Doctor Minako. Hello, Seung-Gil." Aria did not have much to smile about.

The wizard was too delirious from fever to greet them, or even realize they were in the room.

"Thank you for taking care of him, Dear. Why don't you fetch a bowl of water for us? We'll start examining him."

She did as instructed with a polite nod. Very slowly. Looking over her shoulder at her father one last time before she left the room.

Outside, at the well, she took her time. She had just reached the understanding that "Why don't you help by doing this?" actually meant "Why don't you leave for a bit, so you don't get in the way?"

She glimpsed her own reflection in the water. Even in a form twice her true age, she was still useless. But she would fix that.

She hoisted the heavy bowl in her arms and stumbled to the front door, but before she entered, she could hear Minako say, "Aria's too young for this. I'm too young for this."

"That's an awfully quick prognosis. Are you sure?" Seung-Gil asked.

"Definitely. He has all the symptoms." There was a wobbling in her voice.

"What can we do?"

"Get him some ice. Keep the flies away. Let his family spend time with him."

Aria opened that door so forcefully, if it had been locked she would've broken it to splinters. Her cheeks were already smeared with tears and flushed red with grief. Her skirts were soaked with the water she abandoned in the broken bowl on the porch.

"Seung-Gil, would you get some towels?" Minako asked, petting Aria's back as she sobbed into the sheets. Minako didn't say much of substance for the rest of the night. Just reassurances and gentle cooing.

Eventually, Aria drained herself. Of tears. Of feeling. Soon, she couldn't hold her form as a teen and became her true age. She had no choice but to drag herself to bed, despite having no urge to sleep. Minako embraced her once before tending to the wizard again.

From then on, Aria slept in fitful bursts, sliding into dreams only to jerk back awake. When the moon was so high that she was certain they were gone, she crept back to her father's room. If she couldn't sleep, at least she could have some peace of mind keeping vigil over him.

Seung-Gil was changing the towel on his brow.

"Oh, you're awake," he said.

It was the first time that night Seung-Gil spoke to her. He returned to the task at hand.

"Look. People weren't made to last forever," he said. "I'm sorry you had to learn like this."

"I see you're as tactful as always." There was a bitter edge in her voice. It was not undeserved.

"There's something I never thought I'd hear from a five-year-old."

"Five-year-olds frequently misuse verbs. I'm seven." Five? Really? The audacity.

"I see. Is the very mature seven-year-old going to stand there, or is she going to have a seat?" He kept his eyes and his focus on the patient.

Aria paused at that. She assumed that he'd herd her back to bed, not invite her to stay. Granted, he'd probably learned that he'd have as much luck herding finches. Silently, but not without confidence, Aria slid a plush chair closer to the bed-frame so she could hold her father's hand.

"We can't do anything to help him?" she asked.

"The only thing that can help him now is divine intervention." To Seung-Gil's credit, he did sound remorseful. Almost sad.

The brutality of his answer should have upset her. It should have twisted her organs like a mangled, dirty hand. Instead, it elated her. She could fix this. The certainty of it washed over Aria and lulled her to sleep, curled in the chair like a cat who'd never known hardship.


	2. Chapter 2

Aria’s grandmama would be arriving in a matter of days, so she didn’t have long to put her plans in motion. It was do or die. Possibly die if she was going to make her way to the kingdom of gods alone, but what choice did she have?

If she could run errands by herself and not get lost, she could make it to Albus. The mountain was right there, looming over the forest like a hooded guardian. Impossible to miss.

‘Okay Aria, what do you take with you if we need to disappear?’ the memory of her father asked. 

The answer was potable water, edible food, flint, a knife, a compass, a tarp, and a first aid kit. She mentally checked each off the list as she put them in her knapsack.

‘And you wear?’

A hat to block the sun, nothing made of cotton, and pants.

‘And you never?”

Leave the path.

‘Well done. Top marks,’ he would say with an approving nod and a glint of pride in his eye.

Today, there wasn’t much of anything in his eyes as he accepted the toast and vegetable broth she made. Cooking one last hot meal for him was the least she could do before leaving indefinitely.

“Thank you. I feel better already.” He hadn’t even tasted it yet. “Aria,” he began, his breath heavy. “There’s a birthday gift for you that I’ve been hiding. Under the bed.”

Aria’s birthday was three months ago.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ll be fine.” She would make sure of it.

“Humor me?” he suggested more than ordered. “I just want to see your reaction. If you’re that much of a stickler, you can put it back and act surprised when you turn thirteen.”

If it would make him feel better, what choice did she have? Crouching down, her eyes were drawn to a red hat box, covered in dust and worn edges and memories. It was light as all those things, so maybe it was an enchantment? Like a ward against fire or rapid healing for one month? Maybe it was rigged to spray confetti and his potential last act as a father was a prank all along.

“Go on, open it,” he said.

She lifted the lid as though the box was full of irate bees. It wasn’t a spell or a prank, as far as she could tell. It was a white clay pendant about the size of a skippable rock with six holes and a mouthpiece. Delicate little roses were painted over it like a fine teacup.

“It’s a whistle?”

“More like a flute. Try it.” He guided her fingers to the appropriate positions then motioned for her to rapidly press and lift one finger.

Aria copied as she blew and the whistle-flute warbled between two high notes, almost bird-like. Almost like the wind blowing through a haunted castle.

“It’s beautiful. I love it!”

“I’m glad. Add that to your list of emergency things. Play it when you’re in trouble.” He whispered this next part, even though there was no one else listening. “I enchanted it.”

“What does it do?” Aria lowered her voice with him.

“It brings good luck when you need it. And if we get separated, you can play it and I’ll hear you. So take good care of it.”

She embraced him, arms around his shoulders. His skin was still on fire. “Promise I will.” She wasn’t talking about the flute.

He didn’t notice the goodbye letter she slipped under his pillow.

~*~

The spring here was mild, which meant light snow and heavy rain in between plenty of sunshine and warm wind. All the better for the plants and wandering deer. Aria noted several hiding (poorly) along the trail, dappled with what little sunlight filtered through the leaves. The deer were less inclined to flee from Aria in her true form, puffy-cheeked and unthreatening. That, and it conserved energy.

Here, the oak and aspen were the strongest, and the most ancient. Like old stubborn men, they refused to move, forcing the path to work around them as a snake would around branches. Nervously, she checked her compass. She was going north. She had been going north for at least a mile. Albus was east.

No need to panic. She could fix this in her sleep. Aria left the trail behind her and made a beeline for that mountain. Even under the leaves that blotted out the sun, the snowy peak hovered above, scratching the sky.

Aria progressively found herself sliding under more fallen trees, wading through more creeks, and tripping over more hidden roots. Before she knew it, she was sore and huffing in air. This was just disgraceful. The day wasn’t over yet. She could cover more ground.

As if a genie heard her, she did cover more ground by tripping over a stone, ending in a spectacular faceplant. Finally she accepted her fatigue and took a meditation pose under a wispy ash. More deer shuffled through the foliage, poking their noses through the wet grass, snorting and scratching their tusks against the trunks.

Wait a minute.

At the base of a dead tree, painted with mushrooms, a pack of boars was feeding. They looked so peaceful for what were basically heavy dogs made of sweat and unpredictability. No way was she getting any closer.

Just then, something cold and wet touched her ankle, making her yelp and spooking the offender. It was one of the piglets, still striped and probably of suckling age. It scuttled in circles around her feet. They were so playful when they were small. Scratching it behind the ears wouldn’t hurt, right?

Aria reached out to let the baby sniff her fingers. Nice and gentle. It prodded her knuckles with some curiosity and leaned in to the touch. Little feet. Little snorts.

But there was nothing little about the old boar father charging towards her. Its cloven hoofs raised wild dust clouds in an uneven gait.

There’s only one thing to do when unarmed against an animal that can’t climb. Aria wrapped herself around the thin and flexible trunk of the ash tree so that her knees crossed and her inner arms were scraped by the bark until she was out of reach. The boar rammed itself at the base to knock her down. Its leaves scattered, and Aria shook, but she was shaking anyway.

What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t afford to wait all day for it to get bored. She did have a knife, but there was no way she was getting within stabbing range.

Frustrated and afraid, she knocked her head against the tree with a grunt. That’s when she felt the pendant move under her shirt. Of course. Someone could be nearby. It was worth a shot!

She brought the flute to her lips, kept every hole uncovered, and blew forcefully to raise the octave. The little pendant shrieked a sound so unnatural it couldn’t possibly be mistaken for a bird. No answer. The boar was growing impatient, continuing its onslaught below.

Aria tried again, making the flute scream. She felt it buzz against her teeth, but the bushes around her did not move. No one was coming. By now all the piglets and their mothers had left, so it was only her and the monster.

Her palms were slick with sweat and shaky with anxiety. All it took was one more shock against the tree’s spine to knock her down, falling to the ground with a dull thud. Aria’s feet slid against the fallen leaves, struggling to find traction. Her lungs struggled to find air, so she could only blow puffs into the whistle.

Meanwhile the beast never stopped moving. It bucked and squealed and ran one way before making random hairpin turns. Tracks going every which way covered the dirt.

Just as Aria found her footing, it charged towards her one last time. Until an arrow struck the ground before it.

Like a spell had compelled it, and that was likely the case, the beast abruptly changed directions again and ran until it was out of sight. Out of mind.

“Got it!” The stranger seemed pleased with themself even though they missed. Their eyes moved to Aria.

“Are you okay?” The eternally youthful face of an elf looked at her. “I’m Viktor. Do you need help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s heeeere
> 
>  
> 
> And yes, it’s a real instrument.
> 
>  
> 
> Also I may have exaggerated the aggressiveness of real boars. They’re hard to predict and territorial, but mostly attack people who hunt them. Let’s just pretend it’s magic.


End file.
